


A Hippogriff for Christmas

by xanthippe74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Kid Fic, Pre-Slash If You Squint, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Widower Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 14:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/pseuds/xanthippe74
Summary: Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a live Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds. It might take more than a father’s persistence to convince Harry to help make Scorpius’ Christmas dream come true.
Comments: 42
Kudos: 314
Collections: Wireless Festive Minifest 2019





	A Hippogriff for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written—quickly and impulsively—after watching Postmodern Jukebox’s [“I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuNH4kpuobc) on YouTube, which they covered with their usual energy and panache. The story was supposed to be humorous and entirely fluffy, but then the feels popped up unexpectedly… much like the horn section in the video. Many thanks to Gnarf for answering my last-minute questions and helping me find a beta on short notice, and to Mars Bar who answered the call with a prompt and thorough reading and lovely feedback. Happy Holidays to the HP community, and I hope you enjoy this sugary morsel!

Harry was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest when he spotted the enormous owl descending from the darkening sky in precise circles. He held out his arm when it was clear that it was carrying a message for him. An eagle owl, he noted, and a well-trained one. She gripped Harry’s forearm with nary a flinch or a fidget while he fumbled to detach the letter from her leg with the half-numb fingers of his free hand.

“Up to the Owlery with you, big girl. Get out of the snow for a bit,” he said, throwing his arm upwards to help her launch herself. The cool tips of her wing feathers brushed Harry’s face, necessitating a desperate grab for his glasses before they got knocked off.

Too late. Harry fished them from the snow and cast a drying charm. They were supposed to have a built-in _ Impervious _ Charm, but it had long since worn off and he couldn’t be arsed to go all the way to Diagon to get it fixed. Maybe Hermione could do it for him at Christmas. He almost dropped his glasses back into the snow trying to juggle his wand, his wet gloves, and the still-unopened letter.

“For heaven’s sake,” he muttered, unconsciously imitating Hermione. He smiled to himself when he realised he’d done it. He hadn’t seen her in over two months, but Christmas at the Burrow was only ten days away. Their respective jobs, as Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts and Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement, left precious little free time for visits. Though unlike Hermione and Ron, Harry wasn’t trying to balance work with parenting a precocious toddler and an infant.

“This better be important,” Harry said, shaking the snow off the letter. It was falling fast now, filling the deep footprints he’d left on his way to the forest earlier and re-blanketing the steep roofs of the castle. He started wading up the hill as he pried open the wax seal on the envelope. Monogrammed. Harry rolled his eyes.

_ Dear Potter, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I realise that hearing from me is likely both unexpected and unwelcome, but kindly hear me out. I need to ask a favour, not for myself, but for my son, Scorpius. He’s four years old and has his heart set on seeing a Hippogriff for Christmas this year. Truthfully, he asked to have his own Hippogriff, but I’ve managed to persuade him that they do not make suitable (or safe) pets. If possible, I would like to arrange a visit to Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays so that Scorpius can see a live Hippogriff. Please reply at your earliest convenience so that we can find a time and date that is mutually acceptable. I would greatly appreciate your assistance in fulfilling Scorpius’ Christmas wish. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Draco L. Malfoy _

Harry had stopped halfway up the hill while he read the letter, his irritation growing with every sentence. He refolded it and crammed it into the pocket of his parka. He had no intention of indulging the whims of another generation of spoilt Malfoy heirs, thank you very much.

The twilight silence of the Hogwarts grounds was broken only by the creaking of Harry’s boots on the snow, his heavy breaths, and a few choice swear words that he decided to get out of his system before he sat down at the staff table for dinner. Minerva would not be amused, even if there were only a handful of students staying at school during the hols.

He’d send a reply tomorrow. The poor owl should have a chance to recuperate before flying the length of Britain again. It wasn’t her fault that she’d had to carry such a ridiculous request. Harry had other important matters to attend to this afternoon, anyways. A nap in his room, followed by the Hogwarts house-elves’ excellent roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, then a Firecall to Teddy, to be specific.

Malfoy could twiddle his thumbs in his stupid Manor and wait.

* * *

The second letter came while Harry was tossing strips of gristly beef to the Thestrals. The owl landed on a pine bough above his head and knocked snow directly into the collar of his parka. The Thestrals pranced back a few steps, startled by his shriek when a wet clump of snow slid down the inside of his shirt.

“You again,” Harry said, brushing the snow off his head and craning his neck to look up at the owl. He finished feeding the Thestrals—and took his damn time about it, too—and thoroughly _ Scourgified _ his hands before holding his arm out for the owl. She daintily accepted the small piece of meat that he’d saved for her. He had to hand it to whoever had trained her. Ron’s owl, Pig, would have launched himself at Harry’s face ten minutes ago.

_ Potter, _

_ While I am grateful for the time you took to reply to my letter, the advice therein was not only rude but unnecessary. Don’t you think I’ve tried to offer Scorpius every substitute for a live Hippogriff that I can imagine? The boy has a Hippogriff plushie that’s almost as big as he is, a Hippogriff rocking horse, a dozen picture books (in three languages!), a herd of Hippogriff figurines, whose names and defining personality traits I’ve been compelled to memorize, and a painting commissioned from a professional artist for his bedroom. Believe me, I would be happy to “sod off and find something else” if I could, even if I had to take a Portkey to Outer Mongolia for it. _

_ Scorpius is a child. A four-year-old child who bears no responsibility for the mistakes of his father and grandfather. May I ask that you look into your shriveled, cynical heart and find a spark of Gryffindor nobility for the sake of a small child? Would that be too much to expect at Christmas? _

_ I look forward to your reply. You utter tosser. _

_ D. Malfoy _

Harry felt a bit uncomfortable after reading the second paragraph. He thought of little Rose, who was the same age as Malfoy’s son. He understood the impulse to indulge a child’s every wish, something Andromeda had needed to curb when Harry had tried to shower Teddy with gifts when he was small. If Rose or Hugo or Teddy _ needed _ something that badly, Harry knew he would go to the ends of the earth to get it if he could.

But from the sound of Malfoy’s letter, little Scorpius wasn’t lacking for anything. A commissioned painting, _ Jesus_. He probably had a bedroom the size of Ron and Hermione’s entire house and a nursery crammed with toys, besides. It wasn’t Harry’s job to trot out the magical creatures of Hogwarts like a damned petting zoo.

The Thestrals had wandered away from the small clearing where Harry fed them. Two of the mares were pregnant and he made a mental note to order extra meat next time. Malfoy’s owl had returned to the branch above Harry’s head, but she was watching attentively for any command or signal. He’d always thought eagle owls ostentatious as hell when he was a student, but he was increasingly warming to this one.

Harry filled his lungs with the cold, pine-scented air of the forest, then released it in a cloud of mist. Malfoy’s request reminded him of the letters that used to plague him after the war, even after he’d left London and what the Daily Prophet called his “promising law enforcement career.” Letters asking him to speak or appear at various functions, inviting him to _ exclusive _ parties, demanding that he support this politician or that charitable cause. He’d become so overwhelmed that he’d started stashing them, unopened, in odd places around his flat. Visitors would open a kitchen cupboard and release an avalanche, or peek under a lopsided sofa cushion to find a stack of crushed envelopes. 

Malfoy wasn’t demanding something from Famous and Beloved-By-All Harry Potter (as Ron liked to call his public persona), but it still rankled to be sent a letter in the same vein. He’d vowed when he’d come to Hogwarts to stop letting the wizarding world bleed him dry, and to stop tolerating the scrutiny and lack of privacy that came with fame. He’s never regretted it. The past five years had brought Harry a sense of peace that had eluded him since the war ended. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy or anyone else ruin it.

“All right, love, let’s get someplace warm,” he called up to the owl. “I’m not going to carry you, though. You must weigh at least half a stone.”

She blinked her orange eyes once and followed Harry through the trees by making short flights from branch to branch. Harry made sure to keep ahead of her, scrambling over fallen logs and around boulders, so that he didn’t end up with more snow inside his parka.

“You _ could _ just go on ahead,” Harry laughed. She seemed to understand, and swooped low over his head with a deep hoot, then up through the bare boughs toward the bright, blue sky.

“Your master is a giant git!” he called after her.

* * *

“Oh, for fu—”

Harry caught himself when he realised that Minerva was watching him. He settled for an irritated growl and slid his empty breakfast plate away from him so that he could reach for the envelope with the emerald-green wax seal, delivered with admirable precision by the now-familiar eagle owl. She hadn’t even jarred the table when she’d landed.

Harry fed her bites of breakfast sausage, then took childish satisfaction in wiping his greasy fingers on the luxuriously heavy parchment. The owl didn’t seem too worse for wear, given that she had made three round trips between Scotland and Wiltshire in the past week. He hoped Malfoy wasn’t exhausting her with his mission to arrange a Hippogriff viewing… and drive Harry mental with his persistence, apparently.

He carried the letter up to his rooms after breakfast. It was very likely that he would break at least one of the Rules for Staff Behaviour and Dress if he read it in the Great Hall. Best not to get sacked right before Christmas, he told himself, even though a dressing down by the Headmistress was more likely. He wasn’t sure which would be more humiliating, to be honest, for a man who was almost thirty years old.

He settled into the armchair in front of the fire.

_ Potter, I’m at the very end of my tether, and I’m not above begging. Christmas is in three days and Scorpius cried when I told him that I might not be able to find a Hippogriff for him to see. Have you ever disappointed a small child? Have you had to look into a child’s eyes and tell him that his dearest wish, the one thing he asked of you, cannot be fulfilled? A small piece of me died, Potter. _

_ But this is about Scorpius, not me. It’s his first Christmas since he lost his mother, and I implore you to indulge him this one time so that he can have the best holiday a grieving boy can have. I applaud and agree with your stance on treating magical creatures with dignity and not like zoo animals to be put on display for anyone who asks. However, I fail to see how this is any different from presenting an animal as part of a Care of Magical Creatures class. Scorpius would be viewing the Hippogriff from a safe distance and will not approach it or—Merlin forbid— _ ride on its back _ . _

_ I ask—nay, implore you to reconsider your decision. A little boy’s Christmas dream rests in your hands. You’re my last hope. _

_ Sincerely and desperately, _

_ D. Malfoy _

Harry let the letter fall into his lap. Lost his mother?

_ Lost his mother? _

The words echoed in Harry’s head and turned his breakfast into a cold, hard lump in his stomach. How had he not heard about this? He knew he was a bit removed from the goings-on of the wizarding world, cocooned as he was here at Hogwarts for the past five years, but surely someone should have mentioned the death of Malfoy’s wife to him.

_ A grieving boy_.

Well, now he felt like a prick. Whatever plans he’d had for the day were going to have to wait. There was no way that Harry could get anything done with this feeling of guilt gnawing away at him. He searched his mind for someone who could tell him what had happened to Astoria Malfoy.

He heaved himself from the armchair and went to the fireplace. Andromeda would likely know; she had a cordial, if cool, relationship with her sister and nephew since the end of the war. Harry tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the flames and called out the address.

“Hello, Andi,” Harry said when her head appeared in the green flames. “Is Teddy around? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“No, Bill and Fleur took him with their brood to Diagon for some last-minute shopping. Would you like to come through?”

“Yes, please.”

He ducked his head and stepped through into Andromeda’s sitting room. She had been wrapping gifts, judging by the scraps of wrapping paper, Spellotape, and ribbons covering the coffee table. The rest of the room was in its usual tidy state, save for a few items that gave away the presence of an eleven-year-old home for his Christmas hols—a stack of dogeared comics on an end table, topped with an empty Chocolate Frog wrapper, and a Hufflepuff scarf draped over the back of the sofa.

“How are you, dear?” Andi asked when they were both seated. “You look a bit out of sorts.”

“Er, yes. When did Malfoy’s wife pass away?” Harry blurted out. He couldn’t bear not knowing any longer.

“Oh. It was in June,” Andromeda said, tilting her head in surprise. “You didn’t hear about it? I went to her funeral.”

“No, I had no idea. What happened? She was so young.” Harry couldn’t keep the distress from his voice. He was thinking about a little boy who was probably too young to understand, who asked for his mother, only to be told that she didn’t _ want _ to leave him, but… _ Oh, gods. _ He squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Harry felt Andromeda’s hand on his arm, offering comfort.

“A heart condition, I believe,” she said softly. “Her health declined very quickly, in a matter of months. Poor Draco is still struggling. He loved her dearly, and losing her was a terrible shock. He’s taking an extended leave from his work to be home with Scorpius.”

Hearing the boy’s name sent another pang of remorse through Harry’s chest. He decided to tell Andi the story, as the first step of his repentance.

“He wrote to me a few days ago to ask if I would let Scorpius come see one of the Hippogriffs at Hogwarts for a Christmas gift. I said no, but I wouldn’t have if I’d known about Astoria.”

“Ah, so Scorpius is still fascinated by them?” Andromeda asked with a fond smile. “Draco’s spent the past year searching far and wide for Hippogriff toys and books for him, I hear.”

“Is it normal, er, _ healthy _ for a kid to be so fixated on something?”

“Oh, yes. For Dora, it was horses. And we both know that Charlie Weasley never outgrew his love of dragons. Didn’t you have something that you were obsessed with when you were four or five years old?”

Harry thought of his dark cupboard and the secret collection of broken toy cars and action figures that he’d smuggled out of Dudley’s toybox. He shook his head. 

“Well, I hope you’ll let Scorpius come to Hogwarts, if you can arrange it. I can’t think of anything that would make him happier for Christmas.”

“Yes, I will, as long as Minerva approves. I don’t think she’ll object,” Harry said. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the sofa cushions. He felt better now that he’d agreed to it aloud.

Now he just had to send a letter—a very contrite and tactful letter—to Malfoy to say he’d changed his mind. Christmas was in two days, and there was no time to lose.

“May I have some parchment and a quill?” Harry asked Andromeda. “And could I borrow your owl?”

* * *

Harry waited outside the gates of the school and watched the place where the road to Hogsmeade curved out of sight between the trees. It was a beautiful winter day, with clear skies and no wind to make the cold more biting than it already was. A sparkling, bright Christmas Eve, perfect for Scorpius Malfoy’s first visit to Hogwarts. Harry cast another Warming Charm over himself and shifted from one foot to the other in anticipation.

When they came into view, Harry was surprised to see Malfoy and his son on a broom rather than on foot. They were flying low to the ground and at sedate pace that showed Malfoy’s parental prudence. Harry waved to them and heard Scorpius’ shout in response. He knew better than to let go of the broom handle to wave back, which Harry took to mean that he’d flown before.

When they came to a gentle stop in front of the gates, Harry’s heart gave a little pang. Scorpius was apple-cheeked under his knitted cap and his blue eyes shone with excitement. He was absolutely adorable. He looked up at his father with a happy smile as he was lifted off the broom, and the look was returned with an expression of adoration that Harry never imagined possible on Malfoy’s pointy face.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, tucking his broom under his arm and extending his hand. “Thank you, again, for agreeing to have us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry replied, shaking Malfoy’s hand. “And you must be Scorpius. Are you ready to meet a Hippogriff?”

“YES!” Scorpius shouted. He looked up at Malfoy again and bounced in the snow a few times as if to say, _ can you believe it? _

“All right, let’s go! It’s a bit of a walk to the paddock. Do you want to fly or walk?” Harry asked. “I would have brought my broom if I’d known you were flying from Hogsmeade.” 

“I didn’t want him to be tired out before we even arrived at the castle,” Draco explained. “We Flooed to the Three Broomsticks. I’m sure he can manage the walk from here.”

“I should have sent a carriage,” Harry said apologetically. “I didn’t think about how far it would be for little legs.”

They walked across the grounds through the powdery snow. The castled loomed over them to their right, but Scorpius only had eyes for small building below the school where Hagrid’s house once stood. He had retired to France with Madame Maxime, and both Harry and the Care of Magical Creatures professor preferred the warmth and amenities of the castle. Beside the small classroom building were various sheds where Professor Marten housed the smaller creatures used for lessons, as well as a stable for the large ones who were ill or injured. A fenced area next to the house was occupied by a large animal that Scorpius immediately recognized, even at a distance of several hundred yards.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Scorpius shouted. “Do you see him? He’s flapping his wings!”

“Yes, I see him, sweetheart,” Malfoy answered with a steadying hand on Scorpius’ head. “Better start using a quiet voice. We don’t want to startle him.”

“That’s Buckbeak,” Harry told him. “I told him that he’s going to have a special visitor today. Well, two special visitors,” he added, with a sly look at Malfoy.

“Potter, that isn’t…”

“Yup,” Harry grinned. “The very same. Don’t worry, he’s warded into the paddock for _ everyone’s _ safety.”

Malfoy’s mouth curled with irritation, but he didn’t say anything else on the way to the paddock. 

Harry stole glances at him as they walked, curious to see how his old school rival looked after… how many years was it? At least seven, Harry thought, since they’d seen each other at a gala or fundraiser of some sort. He helped run several charitable organizations, Harry knew, and their paths had crossed regularly for a few years. It had always seemed to Harry that Malfoy’s eyes had followed him around the room, but they had never exchanged more than brief greetings. Then Harry had fled—no, _ escaped_—to Hogwarts and stopped attending those kinds of events. It had been a relief, honestly, but Harry wondered what else he’d missed in the past five years besides Malfoy’s family tragedy.

Malfoy looked tired now, with dark circles under his eyes and shoulders hunched in his black wool coat. He looked like he needed a nap, and possibly a hug. Harry resolved not to tease Malfoy about his disastrous encounter with Buckbeak during their third year, and to make sure Scorpius’ visit wasn’t spoilt by bickering or insults.

When they approached the fence, Scorpius released a soft “Ooooooh” of wonder and stopped in his tracks. Buckbeak, as if aware that his biggest admirer had arrived, was trotting around the paddock and rearing his feathered head back proudly.

“Look at him, showing off for you!” Harry laughed. “You can go right up to the fence, if you like. I set the wards up so you can get close, but don’t be surprised if he wants to keep his distance. Buckbeak’s been around more humans than most Hippogriffs, so he’s not afraid of you; he just likes his space around ones he doesn’t know.”

Scorpius took tiny steps toward the fence, looking back at his dad every few seconds for reassurance. Malfoy followed him until they were within an arm’s length of the wooden rails around the paddock, then silently held out his arms to Scorpius. The boy wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s neck and let himself be lifted onto his father’s hip for a better view. 

“He’s so big,” Scorpius whispered. “He’s moving his tail! Is he happy, like Lucy when she wags her tail?”

“He’s interested in you,” Harry explained, mentally filing away Scorpius’ mention of a dog. Harry’s heart melted a bit more at the thought of him chasing a dog around a garden. “You know what he really likes? Compliments. Can you think of something nice about him, something you like?”

“I like his wings,” Scorpius said.

“Go on and tell him then. A bit louder so he can hear you.”

“I like your wings, Mr Hippogriff!”

Malfoy turned his head to hide his smile behind Scorpius’ neck. “Buckbeak,” he corrected his son gently. He met Harry’s eyes with a wry smirk.

“I like your wings, Buckbeak!” Scorpius repeated. “They’re all different colours and they look very soft!”

Right on cue, Buckbeak stretched out his wings and pranced in a wide circle in the centre of the paddock. Scorpius clapped his hands in delight.

“Daddy, did you see? He danced for me!”

* * *

They watched Buckbeak for another half hour. Scorpius, emboldened by the success of his compliment, let Malfoy put him down so he could stand with his mittened hands and chin on the top rail of the fence. He was captivated by Buckbeak’s every move, which he narrated to his dad over his shoulder with much enthusiasm and frequent giggles.

Even though the day was still bright, the air was getting colder as the afternoon wore on. Malfoy was casting frequent Warming Charms at Scorpius, but Harry could tell he was concerned. Harry had prepared for just this possibility.

“Do you like hot cocoa, Scorpius? I have some in the classroom,” Harry said, pointing to the adjacent building. “There’s a big window, so you can still watch Buckbeak. There are biscuits, too, if your dad says it’s okay.”

“Let’s get out of the cold for a bit, Scorp. My toes are getting cold, aren’t yours?” Malfoy held out his hand to Scorpius. Harry was impressed by the way he coaxed Scorpius, instead of ordering him. 

“Okay,” Scorpius said, and dragged himself away from the fence to be led inside.

Harry went first to the woodstove in the corner and lit a fire to warm the room. When he turned around, he saw Malfoy kneeling down to unbutton Scorpius’ coat and feel his hands to make sure they weren’t cold. Then he reached out, Seeker-quick, to gently tweak the tip of Scorpius’ pink nose. 

Scorpius ran giggling to the table where the thermos of cocoa and biscuits were waiting, and climbed onto a bench. He pulled off his hat to reveal the same cornsilk hair as his father’s; it was so flattened and staticky that Harry couldn’t help grinning.

To think that he’d expected the Malfoys’ visit to be a chore, something he wouldn’t enjoy at all. And yet today was the most fun he’d had in ages. Nothing could match the innocent delight of a little kid, Harry concluded. It made him realise how much time he spent alone, tending to his duties on the grounds or in the forest, and taking many of his meals at odd hours in his rooms. The closest he came to socializing here were staff meetings and weekly tea with Teddy.

He sat across from his guests and poured the steaming cocoa into three mugs. He passed the plate of biscuits to Scorpius, who gingerly took one, then passed another to his dad.

“Daddy likes the chocolate ones,” he explained to Harry.

“Well, he should certainly try these,” Harry replied. “The house-elves make terrific biscuits.”

Scorpius managed one biscuit and half of his cocoa before he ran to the window to watch Buckbeak. Harry sent a chair over with a flick of his wand for Scorpius to stand on. He leaned against the glass and waved at Buckbeak every time the Hippogriff looked in the direction of the window.

“I really can’t thank you enough for this, Potter. It’s all he wanted for Christmas,” Malfoy said in a low voice.

“I’m glad we could arrange it. I truly am sorry I was rude in my letters. I had no idea about… your wife.”

Malfoy closed his eyes and nodded. Then he turned his head to watch Scorpius, who was now blowing kisses through the window. 

“He’s the sweetest kid,” Harry continued. 

“He is. I’m certain he takes after Astoria in that respect. No one would describe me as a sweet child.”

“Not even your mother?”

“Well, perhaps. Parents have a blindspot when it comes to their own children, I think.” Malfoy turned back to Harry. “You’re quite good with Scorpius. Do you want some of your own someday?”

“Definitely, but I have to settle for being an honorary uncle to my friends’ kids and Teddy’s godfather for now. There aren’t many opportunities for romance around here.”

“Well, no. You’ll have to come back to London sometimes if you want to meet people.”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to deal with the photographers following me around again. And the gossip columns speculating about anyone I so much as look at. I think I’d rather face another dragon.”

“Well, there’s the solution to your problem. If Hogwarts hosts another Triwizard Tournament, you can have the dragon _ and _ meet the French half-giant of your dreams without setting foot outside the school,” Malfoy said, his face brightening with amusement. “You should start growing the beard now if you want to be ready for romance by September.”

Harry laughed. “Hagrid and Madame Maxime are very happy together, but I’ll just bide my time and wait for the right bloke to come along. You never know—he could walk right through the gates one day.”

Malfoy grimaced as if he didn’t believe that was likely, but Harry thought he looked a bit pink in the cheeks as he called Scorpius back to the table to finish his cocoa. When they were done, Harry banished the mugs and the remaining biscuits back to the kitchens and pulled a shrunken parcel from his coat pocket.

“Professor Marten wanted to be here to give this to you herself, but she had to catch a Portkey this morning. She made it for you when I told her you were coming today,” Harry said. He unshrank it with his wand and passed it to Scorpius.

Scorpius pulled off the heavy paper carefully and held up a framed certificate with the Hogwarts crest at the top.

“That’s my name,” Scorpius said, jabbing the glass with his chubby forefinger. “And that says _ Hippogriff_.”

“Very good. Maybe your dad can read the rest to you.”

Malfoy had already scanned the certificate and looked taken aback when he met Harry’s eyes. He cleared his throat and read, in a slightly choked voice:

_ “By Order of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scorpius Malfoy is hereby named Honorary Assistant Hippogriff Keeper. On this day, the twenty-fourth of December, in the year 2009.” _

“And it’s signed by Professor McGonagall and Professor Marten, right there,” Harry pointed out. “What do you think, Scorpius? Would you like to be an Assistant Hippogriff Keeper?” Harry asked.

Scorpius nodded with wide eyes. “What do I have to do?” he whispered.

“Well, you can keep learning about Hippogriffs from books, and then when you come to Hogwarts you can take Care of Magical Creatures class and you’ll be allowed to get in the paddock with one. Maybe even pet it. Does that sound okay?”

“Yes! Do I get to come back and see Buckbeak again?”

“If the Headmistress says it’s okay. She usually only lets visitors come during the holidays, so you’ll have to wait until at least Easter, or maybe next summer.”

Malfoy smoothed Scorpius’ hair with a gentle hand, then leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “What do you say to Mr Potter?” he murmured.

“Thank you!” Scorpius said. “Can I hang it in my room, Daddy?”

Malfoy assured him he could, as soon as they were home. He told Scorpius that it was almost time to go and helped him back into his coat. Harry extinguished the fire and led the way back outside, grabbing the bag he’d hung on the pegs beside the door.

“One last thing before you go, Scorpius. We need to get a picture of you with Buckbeak.”

Harry took his camera from the bag and positioned Scorpius by the fence, instructing him to be as still and quiet as he could. Then he called Buckbeak over to stand behind Scorpius and—very politely, of course—asked the Hippogriff to stay in place.

“Can Daddy be in a picture, too? Please?” Scorpius asked after Harry had taken the snap.

“Of course.” Harry gestured for Malfoy to stand beside his son, but he seemed hesitant. “Go on, it’s fine.”

He realized that Malfoy wasn’t stalling—he was staring determinedly into Buckbeak’s eyes. Harry saw him swallow just before he made a deep bow to the Hippogriff. After a moment, Buckbeak lowered his head in acknowledgement. Only then did Malfoy step closer.

“I did ward it, if you remember,” Harry said. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“I know,” Malfoy answered, lifting Scorpius onto his hip again. “I wanted to do it properly, just the same.”

Harry nodded. He supposed this was Malfoy’s way of apologizing for third year. He took another picture of the pair, with Buckbeak looming in the background. He thought they would turn out well, with the low, winter sun shining on the trio and the perfect blue sky behind them.

“I’ll owl these to you after I develop them,” Harry promised.

Malfoy retrieved his broom from where he’d leaned it against the side of the building and told Scorpius to say his goodbyes to Buckbeak.

“Bye!” he called, waving to the Hippogriff, who had already wandered off to the far side of the paddock, impatient to be liberated. “I’ll come back and see you again, I promise!”

“Can you say thank you to Mr Potter again, Scorp?” Malfoy prompted. “It was kind of him to spend part of his Christmas Eve with us.”

“Thank you! Happy Christmas!” Scorpius sang out, leaning against Malfoy’s side.

“Happy Christmas to you, too. I’m glad you could come meet Buckbeak today. You should probably thank your dad, too. He sent _ lots _ of letters to me.” Harry glanced at Malfoy in time to see him roll his eyes.

“Just a few letters. Did you have a good time seeing your first, live Hippogriff?” Malfoy asked, squatting down in front of his son.

“The BEST time, Daddy.” Scorpius threw his arms around Malfoy’s neck. “It’s the best day ever!”

Malfoy wrapped his arms around Scorpius and looked up at Harry with tear-filled eyes. _ Thank you_, he mouthed. Harry swallowed hard and managed a smile in return. He could only imagine how bittersweet moments like these must be for Malfoy, making new memories with Scorpius, yet painfully aware of Astoria’s absence.

Malfoy stood up and shook Harry’s hand again, squeezing it tightly to express his gratitude. He held Harry’s gaze for a long moment, and Harry felt blindsided by the openness and vulnerability of Malfoy’s expression.

“Happy Christmas, Potter.”

“Happy Christmas.”

Harry sincerely hoped it would be, for both Malfoys.

Malfoy straddled his broom, then bent his knees so that Scorpius could climb in front of him. He cast a Warming Charm over both of them before wrapping his arms around his son to grip the broom handle.

“Ready? Hold on tight, now.” Malfoy pushed off gently to hover a few feet above the snow. Then with a few last, shouted goodbyes for Buckbeak and Harry, the pair glided through the air toward the gates.

Once they were out of sight, Harry turned to the paddock and ended the warding spell. He leaned on the top rail of the fence and waited for Buckbeak to approach him. Although they were old friends, Harry always let the Hippogriff decide when he wanted to get within reach.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, digging his fingers into the warm feathers of Buckbeak’s neck. “You made a little boy very happy today.”

Buckbeak leaned into the touch for a few moments, then spun away to gallop across the trampled snow of the paddock, wings beating to catch the cold air. Harry shielded his eyes against the sun and watched him lift himself into the sky. It took less than a minute for him to disappear over the evergreen treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry lingered by the fence. The winter silence, which he normally found peaceful, especially after the clamour of meals in the Great Hall, now felt rather bleak and empty. Thankfully, he was to spend the evening with Andromeda and Teddy. Teddy’s brand of chatter was entirely different than a four-year-old’s, but it would be welcome, nonetheless.

Harry smiled as he headed toward the castle, remembering Scorpius’ bright, baby-toothed smile and his delighted giggles.

“The best day ever,” he repeated to himself.

He had to admit, it was pretty wonderful.

* * *

Harry was awakened on Boxing Day morning by an insistent tapping on his window. A squinting glance at his clock showed that it was barely morning anymore, though the heavy clouds outside made it seem much earlier. Harry found his glasses and robe and stumbled to the window to admit the owl.

“Well, well, look who’s back,” Harry said, coaxing Malfoy’s eagle owl onto his forearm so he could carry her to the sitting room and the bowl of owl treats. When she’d had her fill, he set her on the back of a chair near the fire to dry her damp feathers. “I never did ask Malfoy your name. I’m sure it’s something very elegant and regal. Persephone? Or Cassiopeia?”

She stared at him with her enormous, orange eyes until Harry felt disconcerted and had to look away.

He lit the fire and sat down in his armchair to open the letter. It was a thank-you note, very formal and elegantly penned in Malfoy’s long, slanting script. Also enclosed—and much more welcome to Harry’s still-sleepy eyes—was a colourful crayon drawing of a Hippogriff with a disproportionately large head, thick legs, and multi-coloured scribbles for wings. 

He returned to the letter and found that it also included an invitation to dinner the following weekend. Scorpius, no doubt excited to find another Hippogriff lover, wanted to show Harry his books and toys and hear more about Buckbeak. Harry wondered if four was too young an age to hear Buckbeak’s role in Sirius’ rescue from the Dementors. He winced, and immediately decided against it. Maybe he could tell the story of Buckbeak’s brief residence in the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place. Malfoy would probably appreciate that as a cautionary tale for his son.

Harry set down the letter and crossed to the mantel where he’d set the photographs he’d taken the day of the Malfoys’ visit. He’d developed them last night after he’d returned from the Burrow, too wound up and overfed to sleep. They’d come out just as well as he’d hoped.

Scorpius grinned at the camera in his photo, blinking in the bright light and dwarfed by the Hippogriff behind him. He looked as radiant as the snow around him, yet careful to stay still as Harry had instructed. Harry shuffled to the other photo and studied Malfoy for a long time, just as he had late last night after he’d developed the film.

He was smiling, but his posture in his austere, long black coat showed a certain tension. Harry wasn’t sure if it was due to his awareness of the deadly talons mere feet behind him, or a struggle against the weariness that he carried. The photo didn’t show it, but there was a new softness to Malfoy that Harry found intriguing. It was so different from the stiff formality that he wore when Harry used to see him in London.

Accepting the dinner invitation would provide the perfect opportunity to see that new side of Malfoy again. Harry set down the photographs and took the letter to his desk to compose his reply. When he was done, he tacked up Scorpius’ drawing on the corkboard above the desk. It fit in perfectly among the hodgepodge of kid artwork created by various Weasley grandchildren.

It had been a long time since Harry had welcomed someone new into his life. Maybe he could be a worthy addition to the Malfoys’ lives, too, if they chose.

Harry turned to tell Malfoy’s owl that he’d have a reply for her to carry later, but it seemed that her Christmastime flights had finally caught up with her.

She was fast asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://xanthippe74.tumblr.com/)


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